


knock me out, i come undone

by impulserun



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Theatre, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 22:48:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6132820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impulserun/pseuds/impulserun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Enjolras is a tease and Grantaire is ready for death’s sweet embrace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	knock me out, i come undone

This is the worst. This is the _actual worst_ and Grantaire is never going to see this production of Grease make it to the stage, _ever_ , he is going to _die_ , because Enjolras is a walking wet dream and a fucking _tease_.

It had started with rehearsals, and that had been okay because Enjolras kept to loose-fitting and comfortable clothes while rehearsing all his dance scenes and it was easier to tear his eyes away from the other man’s crotch during Greased Lightning when said man was in his grey slacks.

Then had come the _leather_ , and that had been _fine_ , it really _had_ , even if the costume fittings made it hard for Grantaire to remember all his lines. Then the tight pants – really? Tight pants? Was Musichetta actively trying to kill him?

But none of that – _none of that_ – could ever top this _agony_ , because Enjolras has just walked out of the changing room in _booty shorts_.

Grantaire is going to quit. He can’t do this, he can’t be a Completely Heterosexual Kenickie, there is only so much homoeroticism they can sneak in before people start to notice, he is going to quit and let Courfeyrac take over the role because Grantaire. Is going. To _die_.

“How do I look?” he asks, smirking – _smirking_ – and he twirls – _fucking twirls_ – on the spot, giving Grantaire an excellent view of his white-cotton-clad ass.

Grantaire thinks he might actually cry.

The shorts aren’t even the worst part, because right there, on Enjolras’ right butt cheek, is a giant red fucking _R_.

*

To his credit, Grantaire gets through all of two dry runs before he winds up pushing Enjolras backstage at lunch, tripping over exposed wires and biting off fumbled curses.

“Oh god, fuck you, _fuck_ you, you are the absolute worst boyfriend ever,” he babbles, roughly shoving him in the vague direction of a table.

“Really?” Enjolras teases, the _fucking bastard_ , “Because I thought you rather enjoyed it.”

“ _Fuck you_ ,” he growls, pushing him back and back and back until his legs hit the edge of the table. Enjolras laughs and thrusts up against him and Chetta will _kill_ him if he messes up their costumes, she really will, but _fuck_ , _Enjolras_ –

Grantaire manages to get on his knees and fumble Enjolras’ pants down at the same time. His face falls when he sees what’s beneath them.

“Those shorts,” he says, with feeling. “ _Those shorts_.”

Enjolras simply grins and pushes his pants further down.

“The _R_ ,” he says again. “On your _ass_ , Enj? Really?”

“I may have called in a favour with Chetta,” he admits. Hah. _Hah_ , Grantaire _knew_ Musichetta didn’t hate him that much.

“Oh man, she’s going to think of something _horrible_ for you to do in return.”

“It’ll be worth it,” he says smugly, wriggling slightly beneath his touch. He thinks one day he’d like to tie him up and pin him down, just to see if he can, but those are not thoughts one should have backstage at a lunch break between costume rehearsals, absurdly tight pants or no.

“ _You’re_ always worth it,” Grantaire replies somewhat hysterically, and then – to stop himself from saying anything else ridiculously sappy, really Grantaire, where had that come from – he licks a long stripe up the underside of his cock and swallows Enjolras down in one smooth bob.

The chuckle building up in Enjolras’ chest melts into a moan, and the blond’s head tips back to expose the creamy pale expanse of skin that is his neck; if his mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied Grantaire would bite at the skin there and worry it until it bruised, would mark and suck and _claim_. He contents himself with scraping ever so slightly with his teeth at the skin of Enjolras’ cock; Enjolras whimpers.

If he only had more time, he would take his time to work Enjolras open, with his fingers, his tongue, would get Enjolras nice and ready for him, would take him apart with slow methodical thrusts until the other man was begging for more. But he doesn’t have that kind of time, he thinks wistfully, sucking just a little bit harder; with his luck, Bossuet is about to come back from lunch break any second now.

“Yes,” Enjolras hisses, as if he can read his thoughts, “ _yes_ , fuck, _Grantaire_ , yes, _more_ –”

Grantaire hums just for the hell of it, and Enjolras’ arms give out. The blond falls back onto the table, panting out his name.

“Grantaire,” he gasps, and oh, he’s whining now, “Grantaire, please – Grantaire, _please_ –”

Grantaire flattens his tongue against the bottom of his cock, and Enjolras spills down his throat, gasping his name as Grantaire licks him clean. Then he tucks his now-limp cock back into his pants and joins him on the table, gathering the boneless blond into his arms. Not the most comfortable place for post-coital cuddling, but it’ll do.

This is his favourite part of sex; watching Enjolras shake apart until all of his usual façade is gone, and it’s just Enjolras curled up warm and affectionate in his arms, nosing sleepily at the crook of his neck. But they don’t have time for cuddling today, and so Grantaire tilts his head down to kiss Enjolras instead, slow and sweet and deep. Enjolras purrs into the kiss and chases his lips when he pulls away.

“Hey,” he says, softly, and turns to press another kiss to the corner of his lips.

Enjolras hums and snuggles back into his embrace. But then there are hands on both sides of his face, and a tongue licking into his mouth, and Enjolras hips are grinding down into his –

“My turn,” Enjolras whispers, the hint of a smirk lingering about his eyes. He reaches for his waistband.

Grantaire closes his eyes in agony. Enjolras is going to be the _death_ of him.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Grease Live! and Aaron Tveit in leather. That asshole made me question my asexuality. Fuck that guy.


End file.
